


In the Deep

by On_Errand_Bad



Category: Harry Potter - Books, Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - Films, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5, Captivity, Darkness, Draco Malfoy's sister - Freeform, F/M, Lord Voldemort has a child, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29992200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_Errand_Bad/pseuds/On_Errand_Bad
Summary: Before Reading:Warning the first: This story is very, very dark.Warning the second: Within, you will find a narrative with heavy mature content. Dark emotions, vivid descriptions of war, sex (both consensual and rape), discussions of death, disturbing and suicidal thoughts, Stockholm syndrome, betrayal, kidnapping, murder and grief. In other words: All the works. If you are uncomfortable with any of the listed or are not emotionally mature, I implore you to proceed with caution. While I would love for this story to reach as many readers as possible, your well-being is first and foremost in my heart of hearts.Warning the third: Expect tears. Tissues advised.Note:This is a story that I wrote almost exactly two years ago, and posted on a different account, but ended up abandoning and deleting, because it became too depressing for me, at that time in my life. I have about twelve chapters written as of right now, and plan to continue writing this story at some point, but as some of you might know, I already have another current work in progress (Our Blackened Hearts - if you are interested in Remus Lupin, the Pureblood Aristocracy, and a darker view on the Hogwarts era, I would suggest you go and check it out). So, for now, I will just be steadily posting the chapters I already have.Please, please be warned, one more time... this story is not sunshine and rainbows.Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, dear reader.
Relationships: Lord Voldemort/Original Female Character (s), Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)





	1. One: Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Before Reading:**
> 
> Warning the first: This story is very, very dark.
> 
> Warning the second: Within, you will find a narrative with heavy mature content. Dark emotions, vivid descriptions of war, sex (both consensual and rape), discussions of death, disturbing and suicidal thoughts, Stockholm syndrome, betrayal, kidnapping, murder and grief. In other words: All the works. If you are uncomfortable with any of the listed or are not emotionally mature, I implore you to proceed with caution. While I would love for this story to reach as many readers as possible, your well-being is first and foremost in my heart of hearts.
> 
> Warning the third: Expect tears. Tissues advised.
> 
> **Note:**
> 
> This is a story that I wrote almost exactly two years ago, and posted on a different account, but ended up abandoning and deleting, because it became too depressing for me, at that time in my life. I have about twelve chapters written as of right now, and plan to continue writing this story at some point, but as some of you might know, I already have another current work in progress (Our Blackened Hearts - if you are interested in Remus Lupin, the Pureblood Aristocracy, and a darker view on the Hogwarts era, I would suggest you go and check it out). So, for now, I will just be steadily posting the chapters I already have.
> 
> Please, please be warned, one more time... this story is not sunshine and rainbows.
> 
> Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, dear reader.

**One: Threshold**  
_November 1995 - The Malfoy Manor_

* * *

neither in waking nor in sleeping am i. there is the floor. there is the ceiling. there are the walls. there are the creases between them. i know they are there from my hands, though i cannot see, here.

there is only a door when He chooses to enter.

time flees from Him. a body slicing the air, impervious. no light steals through the doorway in the wake of His robes. under the ground. leagues from the sun. if it still shines, that is. if it has not yet rusted into night as all else has.

His mercurial eyes are the sole stars in this room. an inexorable tug. in this room beneath the house in which i was born. in this room beneath the house in which my family sits and shouts and paces and cries.

i listen.

My Child, He says to me.

His lips burn my neck with their cold. if only He would let me use my hands. but i would never know what to do; to embrace Him, to strangle Him. still, safely, my hands are away and cut by the chains secured to the wall by dark magic. tying me to the room, to Him, to this snagged place of grey.

above my body, his wand glides. my ribs move up toward him, toward his darkness, from the chill of the stone at my back, grating away against my spine. two strings tied to me, tied to Him, tied to the puppeteer. the wand passes over me with a blessing of fertility. open the bud. fill the bud with true unending life. darkest wheels do your bidding. bless the child, spear the tarnished womb. life upon him to eternity. for her, at end, a tomb.

i am the chosen vessel to keep His soul alive. entrusted. to carry Him on through ages and ages of the dark until there is nothing more and there is only Him left. never does He see this. how could He; Him, the great one, the unfeeling; how could He imagine this isolation past the sharp curving of the mortal road. this isolation of a god. this entrapment. in stone. in the most permanent of deaths.

yet i shall not speak of such days.

today, or tonight for i can never be sure of the time, He is slower. it is a taunting way of touching, giving hope to withdraw it, the coldness of His hands, His thin lips, His burning tongue inside my mouth. i think about his eyes grazing my nakedness and wait without words. in the corner resides a thin oily mattress, springs screaming, heaven when placed at odds with the floor. the chains are too heavy for my brittle arms to lift. He drags them over the stone with an aching sound and i sigh against His skin when he carries me and places me down again. i am a bird. hollow-boned. i am light.

my bad heart knocks on my ribs, too fast, death's harbinger. darkness obscures my eyes, absent color tingling behind their hot violet lids, pulsing with the feel of Him, the knowledge of His blood, two skins away from my own. His hands tell there will be no needless speaking. i want to touch Him. i want to break my wrists and feel the hate i should feel. but the metal bests my bones and His tongue is rust in my weak mouth and i breathe all my air out into Him and moan.

He is a knife inside me, so painful, but still i arch into His darkness and lose track of breath for want of it. i am leaning over a chasm and can only keep leaning further. i watch myself, i watch a little girl, hair twisting toward the layered fire, face brushed by the hot white ashes, screaming, a train, toward her death. breath comes in waves from his mouth, cool, a shuddering breeze, and ancient, smelling of river stones, a street after rain, soap, charcoal...

outside. outside. i cry.

when He is inside me, pressed against my walls, i am His sheath. i am the protector of His power. i am His power. i know He is coming, coming to his knees, seeing the blackness, arriving. and there is a void, a dip, the absence of a tiny piece of His reality. a weakness. a chink in the silver breastplate. a missing scale in the glittering coat of a deadly, grinning dragon.

His sacred body thrashes into me like a wave, against the back of me, the innermost, the singularity, the rose, dashed and stained, saltwater. the hull of a weather-beaten boat made by hard paper hands. He tears its petals and relishes the blood. i want to wring my neck with his crown. after He arrives this time He does not stop and continues, nails scraping my sides, more blood, grinding, boiling, sweat, the scabs over my bones tearing and bleeding and i am an abandoned garden to which he has returned life and my weary neck rises from the mattress and from the earth and the blood rushes from my wrists and i scream in his arms. jarring, drowning in a searing, numbing ink.

from my body, He tugs his own, and i do not look back while He stares. the musk of the air enters my paper bag lungs and swirls there and returns to the room. His cold knuckles shudder across my cheek and i turn my face to brush them with my lips - a rebellious, dangerous act, i know - before He goes. black robes without motion, no wind, no outside, no garden, no light beyond the open door. all is closed again.

i lay on my back and feel my blood on the inside and my blood on the outside and his seed everywhere and tuck my bruised lips with the blistering taste of him safely into my mouth. i watch my hair to see if faeries will come and move it, braid it or steal it from my scalp to make houses. were He to bring me lead and parchment i would draw it. but i am not allowed. for fear of my using it to shred my veins.

the hair is oily. my hands are unpracticed. i would not use the lead. i would not use the parchment. i do not want them.

He must come again. He will come again. i will be let outside. soon, there will be a clean day.

the walls listen to the secrets inside my head. is it trapped. are they trapped. am i trapped. did i say them out loud or were they kept in all along or am i no longer awake. is there anyone awake...

life is standing in a bottle on the ocean painted black all alone with no-where at all to go because the world is sealed off in echoes apart from a single open wall leading down into a deep abyss with sirens coming from nowhere and the night is a polluted smog-infested black with an absence of stars and this is not a dream and everything inside down to each failing breath is slowly clenching and shrinking

freezing...

freezing...

freezing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE**
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear any feedback or thoughts you have. Also, my deepest apologies for torturing you amazing grammar purists out there, but any errors or stylistic oddities are intentional. Thank you all ten thousand times for being you and I hope you will continue reading!
> 
> Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing!
> 
> Yours truly,
> 
> On_Errand_Bad  
> 1,471 words  
> 18 November, 2020


	2. Two: Cripple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:**
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I know that chapter one was quite abstract—in this chapter Persephone will be out and about more, and we should get a better grasp on the world she lives in. Enter Narcissa, Bellatrix, Lucius and, of course, the Dark Lord.
> 
> I haven't made any major edits to the original writing from two years ago... I hope nothing gets overly abstract. If you are at all confused or curious, please don't hesitate to reach out. I always love reading and responding to reviews!

**Two: Cripple**   
_November 1995 – The Malfoy Manor_

* * *

today is a clean day, which means i go outside. i know this because footsteps are coming and He has not come in a long while, likely days, and he does not make footsteps.

when the door opens i think it is my brother here to retrieve me. it has not been a clean day in too long and i can hear he is trying to not cry in the pitch darkness when he frees my wrists with the cold key, never touching my skin because he knows he will sting it. he lets the metal slip from his fumbling fingers onto the floor with a cold clatter and he searches for it until he finds and pockets it. i crane my neck to search the clay void of his face in the black. but it is not him.

'Persephone,' says my mother. that is my name. 'Are you awake?'

'where is my brother?' i ask. she breathes in painfully and my heart convulses a moment. but i gather myself, make myself not feel.

'Do you want your blindfold?' she asks. but she knows i will refuse to speak until she answers my question. 'Draco is at Hogwarts, dear.' her voice trembles.

'oh,' i say, and nod in the dark. my voice sounds strange to my ears, vile, it hurts to use. Draco is at school, at the request of our Lord. he is a prefect this year.

i remember a clean day before the term began, when we sat out on the bench in the summer gardens in the blaring sun with flower scents blowing across our skin in the wind, and he told me the message he'd received from the headmaster. i knew he could not have cared less, but the news of his new position had served as ample distraction.

'Do you want your blindfold?'

'yes, please.'

'Alright, dear.' her hands are wispy and they flit around me quickly as she ties the familiar fabric over my weak, deprived eyes. she is afraid of touching me. i wish Draco were here, and not her. he would not move and speak so sadly. he would hide himself for my sake. but with her i can barely breathe. i want her to go away.

she asks if i can stand. 'i can,' i say, and i do. slowly, with help from the wall. my hands feel skinless against the stone.

'I brought a shawl for you.' my arm stretches out and she drapes a thin fabric over it, which i place around my nakedness. my shoulders barely move. i feel their blades poking out from my back like dead wings. i imagine myself. hands like needles, skeletal body. bruises obscuring my skin, a new color entire, like a stormy sky, like art. narrow wrists like rods, metal-gnawed flesh. my body feels nothing. i am on my way. coming to dust. fear none, though i shake and my knees will not hold long.

she leads me through the door and i find the familiar railing, cold, sharp, dagger-like on my palm. one step. another. my legs shake and halfway, i have to crawl for the weakness, the pain. my muscles are elastic, disintegrating. my mother stands just beside me, patient, wordless, breathing, body taut in its desperation for relaxation. she knows nothing of this pain. or perhaps she does and i am being cruel.

i shake and think i leave pieces of myself on the stairs, but then i am at the top and i am standing up and i close my eyes behind the blindfold because there is light from somewhere and i am not ready and i am shivering.

'It is okay,' says my mother, but she talks to the air, her voice high, the way voices get outside on freezing nights. outside. soon. soon. now we are in the main room and i feel the black ancient paint of the floor and build the space with its candle sconces and heavy dust-laden window drapes up inside my mind. heavy air, heavy fast breathing, too warm. 'Do you want to try opening your eyes?'

hands move of their own accord, like birds, caged, fused to my body. the lids of my eyes are down. it is easier, in the room, closing them, than opening them, waiting for light that will not come, feeling the odd air against them, freezing, going blind. i feel the lights of the candles above my small frame on my eyelids. so small i am, now that i am in the large room, so short and so thin and like a wraith. a sliver of bone, hair weighing down the crook of my neck, a rushing heartbeat. i open one eye and then the other and blink fast, the room out of focus. then the lights come and there are candles and there are shapes on the ceiling and my eyes are looking further and closer than they have in too much time, and i think i may be on the floor, my head light, my perceptions careening.

'You are alright,' says my mother.

across the room bangs open an immense door and storming over the painted floor comes aunt Bellatrix with her lightning storm of crow-black curls and crazed eyes like beads. 'Do you like it?' she giggles, her hands on the sides of my face, her rancid breath in my nostrils. aunt hates me and wants me to die because she is envious. my mother does not move, she is a statue beside me, she is the color of marble. 'Do you like it!' she is screaming now. high-pitched like a glass shard across my arm. she wishes her voice could slice me. she would speak slowly, watch me bleed. i might not mind it. 'Do you like it when he fucks you? Sounds like it, when you scream. How does he do it; how does he touch you?' her wand threatens to pierce the skin of my neck, and she shakes from some terrible inner cold. i look at the ceiling. her breath is rotten. 'Like this—'

'Bella,' says my mother. the reprimanded recoils as though she's been slapped and she smiles and whimpers with those giant eyes. her footsteps echo throughout the room as she runs off, whimpering and wailing. undoubtedly she will moan to my father that my mother has injured her.

my mother exhales once her sister has gone. 'Let's go get you clean,' she says to me, but i can only shake my head. outside. i need outside first. 'Dear, you'll be too cold.'

'there are coats,' i say. i will wear a world of coats to go outside. my eyes water.

and i do get to go outside before bathing. wearing not quite a world of coats, but enough to make me appear slightly globe-ish. this is uncomfortable in a frightening way, given that my body itself is concave. my ankles feel too narrow, even in the smallest pair of boots. my mother stops in front of the front door and waits for over a minute, looking between me and the knob. 'Are you sure you won't need the blindfold?' she says. i nod. 'You don't have to make it all the way to the river, dear.' but i do need to. 'We can go out a second time after this, if you'd like. How about just standing still a while?' but i have to walk. i have to move and breathe and feel that my body still works.

'just open the door, and i will do what i can,' i say, which is what she wants to hear, and makes her nod, though her eyes stay beady and wet, as they always have been. she opens the door.

outside, there is no sun. the sky is bathed in a flat white and the air is a heavy foggy cold. but still my eyes sting, almost blind from being so long shrouded in the dark. the light hurts so badly i cry, but without sound, so my mother will not see and drag me back inside. wind scrapes around the sharp corners of the roof and windows and knocks tree branches together, the wood so old it could be mistaken for stone if not for its creaking. the cold clenches around my neck but the wind does not touch the ground and my hair is left eerily still. i stumble and shiver and cough, yet still i walk, my mother trailing behind me.

each time i venture outside, i must re-learn the landscape, teach myself that my eyes are reliable, and that this is not a dream, but real existence. real trees. real air. real ground giving way just slightly beneath my boots. real leaves coming down to the ground, the real sound of the rageful river just beyond the next hill. few leaves remain on the trees, but those which do are crimson or turned gold by light from a source unknown, jewels standing out on abandoned chains or bands of chilled dark metal.

air floods my lungs, and i have to remember to sip from what is around me, never gulp, or i will cough and see stars and my mother will not be able to carry me all the way back.

by the river, i sob and scream while the current foams and takes away the falling leaves and whines among the stones, stifling my sound. it hurts to stand so i lay down and it hurts to lay down, too, but my legs are not so painful this way. my mother stands behind me and does not dare to touch me as i lay on my back and look through the dark latticework of tree branches at the washed-out sky. i think about my soul.

there is no true dark here, like in the room. only its opposite, and yet i am shackled. i want Him. in this light i see Him and remember from before, from time gone, remember the words around Him, when He was monstrous, His name a curse. i shiver. hating and wanting Him. inside me, in the room, in the dark, His taste, the taste of poison, sour bile. illness danger. thrilling. i feel the prey that is my body, the permanent grime of it. and, still, i want, i lust. this light should be far more than enough. this evil in me should be erased. why do i hunger when i possess no stomach to hunger with?

it is a while before i can stand, and my mother has to hold my hands because my knees will not hold. our return to the house is slow. the air does not move except for high above in the sky where it smears the clouds over themselves evenly and turns the world grey and heavy. my ankles and my body tremble. i wonder if He will come.

inside, i allow my mother to draw me a bath. i remove my layers and layers of clothing while i still shake from the weather and i wince when the fabric makes friction against the sores of my skin. i do not look at the skeleton of my body in the mirror, though it is tempting. i can imagine my hollow cheeks, the blades of my breastbones poking through sharply beneath my thin neck. knobby elastic body. an overused toy. a distraught china doll, ready to shatter.

the water is not too warm, not too cold, but not quite just right. i step into it and it is immediately dirty. i keep my head above the surface and don't look through the milky griminess at my legs, afraid of what i may find there. my mother sits on a stool in the corner, pretending not to watch me, but she does. she drains the water and fills the tub again, over, over, until i am too clean to believe and the water does not change color when i touch it. over my head she pulls one of my dresses from before, knitted, warm, and tolerably itchy around the shoulders. she also brings my favorite socks, equally warm and reaching up to my knees, bunching up around my diminished calves.

my mother is perceptibly warming, allowing herself the illusion of normalcy in all things surrounding me. allowing herself to believe i am back for good, back and normal and the way i was before any of this took place, when He was in hiding, when i was her little girl, her princess. i have seen her do this to herself eleven times before and not once has the illusion lasted. the change in her is rapid, desperate. she only hurts herself more. but i do not question the fantasy. i allow her her warmth, her imagination. and she only grows more gentle, more at ease, more hopeful. until i ask for my father.

her face falls. 'He is in the attic room. He has been feeling ill,' she says. i know she is lying. he is hiding away, ashamed of himself. he will recoil from me, i know.

'i want to see him,' i say. her smile from before is contorting into a grimace.

'Alright,' she says at length, the word scraping the sides of her throat as it comes out. she sucks on the inside of her cheek and i wonder if the sharp edges of the word made her bleed. words have done that to me before. for a moment, i almost wish i had never brought up my father. for a moment.

the halls of this house are wide and isolating. there are so many doors, some of which my brother and i have never looked past. as children we ran about, heedless of our mother's warnings not to trip on the carpets, and we would stand for hours in front of the locked secret doors, fiddling with the knobs and guessing at what might be inside until our father passed and we went along, pretending to have never been interested. now, i hope i never find out what lies in wait behind those locks.

we are on the stairs approaching the room housing the attic ladder, my father's preferred hiding place, when my legs first give out. i seem to clap in half like a split plank, my calves making hard contact with the next step. my bones groan but i make no sound. my mother hauls me up by my armpits and elbows. there have been far too many stairs. i wonder if he will even look at me when i finally stand before him, and i can tell by my mother's trembles that she wonders the same. 'If you don't feel strong enough, we can go to your room and you can sleep a while,' she breathes, though we are nearly to the top of the stairs to the hall where my father is, confirming my suspicions. i cannot say anything to that, so i look ahead, grasp the railing, and soldier on, upward.

he is sitting on a stiff-backed chair with his head in his hands when i tap the whining door open. his white hair cascades over his lap and his eyes are set outside the drafty window, seeing nothing. 'Lucius,' says my mother. his neck straightens and he turns his head toward her voice, but does not put his eyes directly on us. my feet shuffle forward.

'father?'

i get down on my knees in front of him and he stares at me as though looking at a ghost. blankly, with hard dark eyes. not a trace of a twinkling in their recesses. he has an old face. my bony hands stretch out and touch his shoulder, and i lean into his chest, trying to embrace him, if weakly. but he only stiffens, closing his eyes and turning his head. he cannot bring himself to touch me. the tapestries plastered to the wall close in. i am swathed in their ancient dust and breathing is forgotten. i feel heat gathering behind my eyes and then my saline hatred trickles out into his lap. he does not love me. he hates himself because of me.

my mother pulls me from him and speaks not a word as she ushers me out of the room and closes the door silently. we go back down the stairs. my eyes are too dry to produce enough tears, but my heart sobs. she takes me to my old room with my old bed and dresser and mirror and window. i would like to open it despite the cold but it is too old to open and so my mother takes the drapes down so the slight sun can still touch my face. i put myself into a nightgown and my hands accidentally brush my poky ribs and i cannot breathe for a minute. i am barren.

we drag my bed across the room and i lay curled up right against the glass, looking out at the gray world, at the swinging treetops, while my mother holds my hand and braids and strokes my hair and hums a lullaby. the sheets are so soft and the blankets are warm and heavy and i feel i am on a cloud. i should sink through this dream at any moment and topple back to the room beneath the ground. surely i am too heavy and grimy to remain here long. but my eyes close to the velvet of her humming and i feel small again and in my dreams there is a steady stillness. i pray this is death.

* * *

but i am woken by a shrill, traumatized cackle, when the light outside the window has faded and the last traces of sunset brush the far-off horizon through the trees. my mother has not let my side and her hand tenses, curling around the blankets at the edge of the bed. the cackle comes again, slowly morphing into a scream, and i know from the pitch and character of aunt Bellatrix's sounds from below that He has arrived. my body springs from the mattress, my sleep shaken off, a mere memory.

'Steady,' says my mother fearfully, her hand clamping down on mine. i tug myself away from her, twisting, standing and trembling down to my bones, lurching toward the door. 'Persephone,' hisses my mother. i press my ear to the crack and strain my hearing as far as it will go. but there are only faint murmurings. from above i hear footsteps and soon my father is hurrying down the stairs, through the hallway just past the door. i turn the knob and reveal myself.

his hair is disheveled and he whips around with wide bloodshot eyes at the sound of my door, pressing a spindly finger urgently to his lips and motioning to my mother to follow. she takes me by the elbow and closes the door cautiously, dragging me along. i watch father, hands raking through his hair, trying to settle himself as he descends another set of stairs. my knees buckle but my mother keeps me upright. the thought of seeing Him, just moments away, is a splint tied along my core, and i try to keep my breath from sending me toppling. my hand runs along the glossy black paint of the final banister as we descend into the great room. i can see Him, and i can see a second form at His feet, but i avert my gaze.

my father drops into a deep bow despite the situation before him, and my mother and i follow suit. i lower my eyes, watching secretly from under their lids as a second shuddering form on the ground shakes its head maniacally. the distinct whimpering and dark lightning hair is unmistakable.

'My Lord,' pleads Bellatrix, hanging onto His ankles and trembling, kissing the floor.

'Bella,' He says in a droning baritone, never predictable, and my heart skips. 'Let go of me, now.'

her face turns up toward Him and she whimpers but does not let go. 'Lucius,' demands the Dark Lord, and my father strides forward, on the cusp of scrambling, to cleave Bellatrix from His body. he carries her off, kicking and spewing profanity, through the door and into a separate room. my back aches from bending. the Dark Lord moves not, barely twisting His head to look in my direction. i can feel His eyes tracing my neck, the waves of my hair, glowing in the dim light from the half-burned candles in their sconces around the room. 'Thank you, Narcissa,' He says to my mother. i listen to her clothes rustle as she stoops lower into her bow and then turns, leaving the room after her husband and sister.

the door closes. we are alone.

'My Child,' He says to me. He makes masterpieces with his voice, chipping away at my body, molding me, changing me as he changed all the others, friendly serrated daggers through my middle. 'Stand.'

His arms open for me in benevolence and i shudder to a straight position, my arms weighted at my sides. 'my Lord.'

i walk forward and He wraps His cold arms around me in a beautiful lie, His lips against my hair, my forehead in the center of His chest. 'You have washed and slept,' He observes.

'i have, my Lord.' somewhere, Bellatrix wails and screams and shatters something, shouting billingsgate to all four corners of the house, but i barely hear her for my hammering pulse. His grip loosens around me and He leaves to glide across the room, staring up at one of the dripping candles. 'You look well, my Lord.'

He turns back to me, and stares down into my face, and lower, toward my abdomen. i shiver involuntarily. 'I feel well,' He says. another curve cut into my new body, another piece of my old self dusted away with the brush of his tongue. He looks into my eyes, though He does not have to. 'May I?'

'yes, my Lord.'

His hand graces my shoulder and travels down to press against my middle, leaving a searing need in its wake, which He knows. but i remain silent. His eyes close and move slightly behind their pale lids, flicking around in search of something. when i breathe, i do not move. His hand is harder now, searching for any sign of consciousness hosted by my body other than my own. a powerful magic seeps from His flesh into my veins, rushing through my heart and my every limb, through my tingling fingers, and i nearly fall but He stabilizes me, clutching my body against His own, His bones creaking with effort, a guttural sound catching in His throat. my heart speeds up and i fear i might faint, but then, with a great sweeping that leaves all the candles extinguished and His eyes glittering before me, it is over.

His thin mouth warps into a shape i cannot read. i must have failed. i must have disappointed Him. i must be barren, yet again. but then, slowly, the candles are lit again, and a laugh claws up through His throat, deep and mechanical, hard dark and rejoicing. slowly it climbs upwards to a high whine and then a shout, like deep bells ringing off the obsidian walls of primordial Hell, deep and chilling, the darkness solidifying in His eyes. His hand clamps down upon my arm so hard i think it will break and the flames of the candles flicker and an invisible presence is summoned into the room, something dark and ancestral. He shouts so my ears sting and i drink up the sound of Him.

'My Child,' He says, looking down at me. 'You have impressed me.'

His lips swoop down from on high to claim mine in a sharp kiss that makes me gasp. my knees knock together as He grasps my neck. i feel a sting where His hand left my arm, as though we had been stitched together with cold glue, the darkest magic. immediately the skin where His hand had been begins to darken, and blooms of purple and blue spring up around my wrist, a deathly corsage. He breathes his frozen soul into me and i feel a stirring within my core, my hands clutching at His holy robes as we moan.

He is victorious, and i am worthy. i am worthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE**
> 
> I want to clarify that though Voldemort possibly seemed to show signs of humanity, or at least a human sexual nature in this chapter, our narrator is very much under his influence, and not to be trusted. Voldemort takes no humane pleasure whatsoever from Persephone—if he obtains any real pleasure at all it is in the form of raw power and domination, not of love or attraction, as she might desire. So when I write something like "his hand graces my shoulder," that should not be taken as an actual tender expression, but as evidence of Persephone's deluded mindset.
> 
> I just love what I did with Bellatrix in this story... it's going to be so fun to play with her character in the later chapters, when I actually start writing, picking up from where I left off, rather than just copying, pasting and proofreading.
> 
> I have to admit from a personal standpoint, that it is very interesting to be rereading this two years after I wrote it. I quite frankly forgot it existed until I found it while perusing some old files. It's impressive to look back on how different my style was, such a relatively short time ago, and to see the way my own personal difficulties at that time manifested themselves into this story. Whatever was going wrong, art came out of it... and that has to mean something.
> 
> I hope you are well. Please leave your feedback, or message me privately!
> 
> Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing.
> 
> On_Errand_Bad  
> 4,297 words  
> 19 November 2020


	3. Three: Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:**
> 
> The actual explanations of what is happening in this story are sparse, I know, so I will take a moment, now, to make sure we all know what's going on.
> 
> Point one: Persephone Malfoy has been kept for some time as, in essence, a sex slave for the Dark Lord—but rather than use her for pleasure, his goal has been to impregnate her with his child.
> 
> Point two: At the end of the last chapter, Voldemort discovered that Persephone was, indeed, pregnant by him. At the start, the child was a normal child (or as normal as a child begotten from Tom Riddle is capable of being). But then Voldemort is described as "breath[ing] his frozen soul into [Persephone]" which means that he is placing part of his soul into the child she is carrying—in essence, making the child into another horcrux.
> 
> Point three: In the first chapter, Persephone's narration made multiple references to immortality, because she understands that Voldemort's goal is to, through her, produce a child who will live forever, who will be, in essence, him. Throughout this process of attempting to impregnate her, he has been "priming" her body, so to speak (sorry, that was a horrible word to use, but I really couldn't think of a better one) for his seed, using dark curses that attempt to solidify this plan.
> 
> Got it? If not, feel free to reach out. To be honest, I'm still going through these chapters trying to sort out just exactly what my self of two years ago was getting at. Being asked questions by you all would greatly help me along in that process of deciding where I am going to take this story in the future (because, of course, my past self wasn't thoughtful enough to leave any sort of notes or plan).
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> Enter, Draco.

**Three: Without**   
_December 1995, The Malfoy Manor_

* * *

Draco arrives at the beginning of the Holiday break with immaculately combed hair and his usual suit in perfect order. i am the only one who seems to sense how much time he must have spent making himself look normal and undisturbed before his arrival. surely he did it for the sake of my mother, and she doesn't suspect a thing. so i pay no heed to the ignorance of my parents. my strength has waxed lately, after many nights spent in my bedroom on a decent mattress, access to soap and water and as much food as i can fit into my severely shrunken stomach. so after he greets our parents and suffers the required niceties with a smile, i help him carry his second trunk up the stairs to his room.

'how has power been serving you, sir prefect?' i say on our way. a wordless agreement to carry on the small talk from downstairs stands between us. we cannot discuss anything we truly want to until our sure-to-be-eavesdropping parents are far out of earshot.

he gives a short laugh. 'As well as it can, given that Parkinson prefers to take the lead anywhere she can manage to snatch it. I'm no real match for her, you know.' i laugh back, but really the thought of Pansy Parkinson makes my stomach roil. she's been after my brother since time immemorial and she has no warrant. nobody will ever deserve Draco, in all his depth, all his sadness, all his hidden beauty, especially not a swine like her—

'Jealous, sis?' Draco jokes, drawing me out of my angry train of thought. 'Wish you'd gotten the chance to shove her off the throne?'

'Merlin's beard, no. i much prefer being home, thank you. and i know you don't enjoy sitting through classes all day as much as you'd have mother and father believe.'

truly, i would rather be at Hogwarts than here. here is no longer home. a taste of freedom can be dangerous for one who is expected to continue resigning themselves to captivity even afterward. were it not for the threat of my murder and the murder of my entire family, i would have severed myself from this place at the moment i gained my sanity. at times when my head is clear and i am alone in my room or walking the halls, wishing i had even a fraction of the oddity of my distant friend Luna Lovegood to keep me afloat, i believe this. i believe i am resisting, silently, as firmly as i can, if only from the inside. but when He comes, that disappears. the huddled conscious inside my chest silences herself and something else entirely takes hold. i turn into a body for His use and His use only. and in the moment, i truly enjoy it. i enjoy being diminished, becoming less than nothing, becoming subject to His all-powerful whims. being destroyed. my insufferable but still lovable companion Hermione Granger could surely quote some obscure muggle textbook and explain the affliction clinically. not for the first time, i am grateful she isn't at hand to chirp facts in my ear at this very moment.

'Well,' says Draco, infusing his voice with the jocular snideness our parents are so used to him using around me. 'I'd like to see you survive a day under the reign of Parkinson back at that miserable place. We'd see how that jealous sleeping dragon of yours would bode then. You'd be scrambling to get back and teach her a lesson.'

we've reached our hallway; his room is just across from mine. nearly there, and then this miserable play-pretend will be over. 'i'll have to count on you to take care of that little irritation, then, while i remain detained. put her in her place, brother.'

'Wouldn't I enjoy it.'

he angles his trunk against his hip and opens the door, creaking as it swings inward and letting me go first into his room. it is impeccably clean, cleaner than it's probably ever been, as our mother had the house elves at work on it since early morning two days ago. i set the trunk on the floor near his dresser and sit down on the edge of his black comforter as he places his trunk on top of the first. only when we are both securely in the room, him pacing back and forth near his bright window, the door safely bolted, can we drop our facades.

'I've been talking to some people, and there's a plan to get you out of all this, to help you escape,' he says, his voice lowering into his chest. i solidify what he's just said in my mind, eyes wide with disbelief.

my pulse jumps at the thought of freedom. of getting out of these four walls, of passing through the gates and escaping to somewhere, anywhere at all but here. i must allow myself a chance at redemption, at sanity, before the being that dominates my body when the Dark Lord comes near takes over completely, forever. my hands clasp one another at the thought, and i breathe deeply, focusing on my brother's words, watching his feet as he paces, pale eyes ringing of barely-harnessed panic.

'Draco, please calm yourself,' i manage. but my words have the opposite effect of the desired.

'Persephone, I cannot!' his eyes flicker toward the door, and his voice lowers to an urgent hiss, his hands flinging untethered through the air as he speaks, eyes gradually reddening. 'How could you possibly expect me to be calm with what they've been doing to you? You're my sister, for Merlin's sake. You're their bloody daughter—"

'stop that,' i say. his posture straightens, and he looks at the wood post of his bed just to my right. 'now just breathe, and try to settle your pulse.' i watch as he struggles to follow my advice, but eventually his fists unclench and he looks at me more calmly. 'come sit down and tell me what's gone on. what sort of plan are you intending to put into action? escape? Draco, really, how could that ever be successful against... against Him?'

'It's not the plan, per se, but the people, that we have on our side.'

my eyebrows arch accusingly. 'Draco, what have you gone and done?'

he sits beside me, making the mattress sink slightly, and takes my hand in both of his. i set my jaw against his tenderness; something must be horribly wrong. 'I want you to take all of this seriously,' he starts. 'I know you've been a bit, well, wrong in the head as of late—' i narrow my eyes, but the slight clenching of his jaw, and the tempting prospect of freedom, keeps me from objecting. 'I've still got my wits about me, though. And so do the certain adults I've contacted.'

'Draco.' my voice is sincere. 'what adults?'

'Certain members of the Order. The Order of the Phoenix.'

'what?' i'm sure my face fails to conceal the fact that i am utterly dumbfounded, so i give up the act. 'my dear brother, i haven't the slight inkling as to what you refer.'

a slight smile perches on his lips but is soon lost. 'Of course you don't. They are a secret operation. Not even Potter' —he spits the name— 'knew about it before this year and it's that loony godfather of his, Sirius Black, who heads it.' i can barely follow, and feel my eyes going blank as he continues to speak. 'Along with the parents of that Weasley clan and that pitiful Dark Arts teacher from third year; you remember Professor Lupin. And Moody, that bastard from last year...' here, Draco's face visibly contorts into one of hatred. he still hasn't been able to get over himself and his lingering embarrassment over the incident last year, in which he had been transfigured briefly into a ferret as punishment for nearly attacking Harry Potter while the latter was unawares.

i grin and make a voice, putting one in mind of a moneyed, potbellied man, announcing acts at a circus. 'ladies and gentlemen, i introduce to you once more, my unfortunate brother, The Amazing Bouncing Ferret.'

he scowls but i see the amusement glittering in his eyes. i chuckle darkly. 'Don't you dare,' he says.

'i wouldn't use magic illegally, silly. and besides, i haven't got my wand.' we wait a moment, looking out the window and ignoring the situation at hand. but, knowing myself and my brother all too well, i know that if we ignore it too long, we'll ignore it forever. 'what does this Order do, in the first place?'

'Well you heard the people they've got with them. They aren't much of a threat at all, I'd wager, but they're assembled to resist the dark forces growing in our world. Or so they say.'

i cannot say anything in response to this. his face falls slowly as he realizes what he has said, and we both sit in silence for a moment, unsure of what to think, what to believe. Draco clears his throat. 'Regardless,' he says, 'they're equipped with a headquarters safe enough to house you and hide you until I can get affairs in order. And they're perfectly willing to provide their services. Good thing you got those three Gryffindor fools on your side early.'

i brush aside his comment against my friends, knowing he wouldn't have said such a thing if his mood was less sour. 'affairs?'

he shifts on the bed. 'You and I will have to run away, of course. Far, far away from here, where we cannot be found.'

'but Draco, the... the child.'

i watch with a slowly sinking, splitting heart, as his face pales. 'The child?' he whispers.

the final snapping of my courage is nearly audible. 'did mother not write you in detail?' i manage at length.

'You can't mean that.' he stands, pacing again in denial, running his hands through his hair, looking all too similar to our father. 'You can't mean that.'

my head falls to my hands before i can exert enough strength to control this. my shoulders shake, though no tears will come, and i feel foolish and disgusting under my brother's gaze. he should abandon me, and all the work we've both poured into each other over the hard years. he would have every right under the sun moon and stars to storm out of the room and never return. but instead he places his hands on my shoulders, tilting my chin up toward him roughly.

'Hush,' he demands. 'Shut up now, alright? It had nothing to do with you. It wasn't a bit your fault.' he breathes deeply and his cool exhale brushes comfortingly across my face. it would be surprising to most how stalwart a force my brother can manage to be when he sets his mind to it. 'But he wasn't successful in, well, the entirety of the plan, was he? We can get it out of you. We can end it.'

i shake my head. the tears arrive, now, slow and still and strangling. 'no, Draco. it will not be ended. it will not be killed.'

'That just cannot be.'

'i know. yet, it is so.'

a soft knock at the door interrupts our eye contact. from the nature of the sound, we both know it is one of the house elves outside the door, not one of our parents. 'Yes?' snaps Draco. i furrow my eyebrows at him in reprimand and he shrugs his shoulders. he's never understood my sensitivity toward creatures he considers as lesser than, but he has still usually acted in adherence to my values, at least in my presence.

'Master Malfoy, sir?' says a small voice, not opening the door. 'Madam Malfoy has requested you and your sister's presence in the dining room for a meal and then a stroll around the grounds.'

we look at each other briefly. 'we will be down momentarily, Gertie,' i say kindly to the elf outside the door. 'thank you.'

'Oh,' says Gertie, voice gentler and steadier. Draco rolls his eyes at me and i stick out my tongue. 'Thank you, Lady.' she goes on, mumbling something unintelligible and bewildered-sounding to herself as she walks back down the hallway and we chuckle softly together.

after waiting long enough to be in good faith that we are not being eavesdropped upon, i gather the will to speak again. the smiles slip from our faces; my voice is heavy-laden with sincerity. 'brother, the risk is too great.'

his hand clasps mine. 'I fear for my life,' he says to me, 'but more for my sister.'

at this, we lean into each other. embraces have never been completely comfortable with Draco; we've always had some sort of baggage, and it's been difficult to accept each other in such a way when we can barely accept ourselves. but we manage. we pull away after an acceptable few seconds, looking at the bedspread.

'Let's go join mother and father, then,' he says abruptly, and i nod in agreement.

'let's.'

we leave the room behind, Draco first, myself second. before closing the heavy door i look back through the window, and could swear i see, against the wind, a large black crow flapping past. it vanishes, however, and i cannot help but shiver. i shut the door securely and hurry down the corridor after my brother.

* * *

He returns with blood caked beneath his nails for the umpteenth time. Draco and i have been immersed in a complex game of Wizards' Chess in front of the crackling fireplace for over an hour, both our necks aching from concentration, when He apparates into the room without warning.

we both stumble to our feet, my knee accidentally knocking a Bishop from the board in the process. i watch, holding my breath, bowing beside my trembling brother, as it rolls across the black floor, which seems to move beneath our feet in the firelight, and comes to rest before the Dark Lord. at length, He outstretches his hand, and the Bishop rolls back, past us and onto the square on the board from which i'd accidentally knocked it, the sound of its rolling echoing around the cavernous space. the fire climbs a gradual crescendo behind us.

'Draco, you may go,' He says in a cold voice, lighter than usual. it seems, on the cusp of cheerful. i wonder whose blood is under His nails this time.

my brother draws himself up from his bow, and i feel his eyes avoiding me as he walks past with quiet footfalls, down the length of the great table, and up the stairs. likely, to hide away in his room behind a locked door, under the covers of his bed or buried in a distracting spellbook. i long to join him.

at another time, i might've drawn myself up from my bow after the respectful amount of time, but i know not to trust His temper. the room smells of His most recent victim's blood. 'my Lord?' i venture, motionless.

'Silence,' He hisses. the intimidated fire's sound diminishes and i bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. what will He do this time? what will this new night draw out of Him, out of me?

many a time since the arrival of His precious immortal child inside of me, He has visited only to ensure its well-being, and has disregarded my presence. once, He came and His purpose was to be certain that it was strong, that it truly belonged to Him. that was a painful day. screams and spells and testing, over and over. but His seed proved strong, and so did i. and He was afraid to go too far, afraid, i knew, to kill me.

i've told myself i should never have expected him to touch me again. but gradually, over the days upon days, i grew anxious. none of my attempts at seduction were successful, and it seemed that only when i was afraid of Him did He choose to act on His own primitive desires. the few interactions beyond business which we've had have been abusive, and have left me aching but only in want of more bruises. i would take a body of broken bones, were they from Him.

Stop, Persephone. Bring yourself back. This is not You. This is somebody else, this is a consciousness he has created and planted inside You, this is what he wants. You deserve freedom, You deserve to exercise your strength. You must exercise it—

'Go to the table, my child, you know the way.'

butterflies erupt below my stomach, and i have to retrace His words in my memory before i can believe my ears. my knees tremble and i am only half aware as i force myself, step upon step, across the room, never once looking at Him. i stand before the table, hands curling into fists at my sides. i feel the tears streaming already.

'Remove your clothes,' He drones behind me. the words pierce my skin.

i feel His eyes boring directly into the small interruption of bone in the smooth canvas of my skin, where my neck is fused to the rest of my spine. cautiously, expecting to break into pieces, i reach my hands over my shoulders to undo the small buttons along my back, my fingers trembling so violently it takes me an entire minute, even moving as quickly as i can. it's stunning how slowly time actually moves.

eventually i can pull my arms from their long sleeves and let the fabric fall around my feet, leaving my skin bare and vulnerable to the air, the firelight, and His searching eyes. undoubtedly, when my mother had this dress made for me, she intended it to be nearly impossible to remove, likely with sex itself in mind. how very ironic. i kick the dress under the table with slightly more force than necessary.

'Good,' says the Dark Lord. 'Now lie down.'

my chin tucks almost imperceptibly toward my chest. i close my eyes. 'which way, my Lord?'

amusement bubbles in His tone. 'On your back,' He says, and my face drains further of its color. it will be painful. He only desires to watch my face when He intents to make it painful.

i comply with His orders, turning around and crossing my left leg over my right as i sit up on the table, pressing my arms over my breasts though i know it will be no use.

This is madness, Persephone, you are not sleeping, this is reality. Run. Run. Run—

but He has come forward and both His hands are on the sides of my head now, and there will be no more escaping His breath, His lips, His cutting eyes. His hands go to my legs and force them open while i lay back against the cold of the tabletop, facing away from Him, convincing myself not to feel, not to indulge, to send myself away. but His hands, His evil hands, move along my legs and upward, His thumbs brushing the hipbones jutting out from my flesh, brushing over my breasts, making my body twist and writhe under His gaze. He captures my wrists and keeps them magically bound together at the opposite edge of the table. i am paralyzed, breathless, and His mouth is moving along the crease in my chest from my middle to my breasts and to my trembling neck, guiding my legs up to the table, bending them out as though i am a mere doll to bend and break and replace, and i can only gasp for breath and hang on and pray it will end quickly.

but i want it to last for eternity. i want to feel His hands hard on my body forever and His teeth biting down on my skin until my very last breath and beyond. i want to carry Him into the afterworld, curled inside me until infinity.

when He enters me i cry out and turn my face into the crook of my elbow, biting down on my skin to keep from causing my mother, but most of all Draco, any more distress then they've already been burdened with. this time is even more aggressive than the others, and i can barely breathe. with each exhale i can only grunt, my mouth filling with the taste of my hot streaming blood as i gnaw on myself to keep from screaming, my tears terrorizing the wounds inflicted by my teeth. this is all my doing, all my fault, all upon my knobby, quaking shoulders.

i feel His desire to cast the Cruciatus curse, to force my pain from me, to force me to express it loudly, to give him the submission He desires. but perhaps He derives something from seeing my inner struggle to keep my pain hidden away. perhaps He is only waiting for my will to snap, my silence to break, my screams to arrive, spilling from me, like honey to His ears.

when He becomes bored, he pulls himself from me and twists my body over violently without regard to my invisible restraints, my wrists yanking on my arms, elbows nearly dislocating. a yelp leaps from my throat, muffled by my clenched teeth and He enters me a second time with double the amount of hunger, forcing my face into the wood and letting it be ground down there with each of His increasingly violent thrusts, raking His nails down my back. i give up and scream, and scream, and scream, while He pulls my hair, terrorizing every part of my skin with His nails, His teeth. hammering into me.

but then, abruptly, it all stops.

His hands remove themselves from me as though i have turned to searing coals, His member soon after. i stare at a candle in the uppermost corner of my field of vision, feeling a wave of cold as He moves away. i can barely turn my head, but manage to follow Him with my eyes as He moves slowly, almost in a limp, to stand before the fireplace, staring into it. something seems to deeply trouble His mind, His head bent toward the flames, a trembling in His taut shoulders. He certainly wants nothing further from me tonight.

'have i done something, my Lord?' my voice barely makes a sound, struggling from my creaking vocal chords, through the tears clouding my vision. i blink them away, but they return again and again.

'Go,' He demands at length, His voice actually trembling, and my restraints disappear, my body slumping over onto the floor. blindly, on my hands and knees, i gather my dress from beneath the table, pull myself up by the wooden edge, slick with blood and the rest of the mess from our bodies, slipping the fabric as best i can over my skin. i do not dare cast a second look in His direction before hurrying away, feeling the blood already seeping into the fabric and drying the dress to my soon-to-be-scarred back.

i carry myself stumbling and aching up the stairs. no-one confronts me on my path to my room. i bolt the door and scrub at myself in the tub until i give up on drying to feel clean, untouched, ever again. in my bed i cry and look out the window. i wouldn't dare quell the consuming pain magically. it takes a very long time before the strain of the tears and the ache send my exhaustion over the edge, and i am left vulnerable enough to be kidnapped yet again by unconsciousness.

* * *

life is nothing but falling asleep and waking up. Draco disappears daily to an undisclosed spot in the woods, probably sending out and receiving owls, carrying precious correspondence as to the conditions and details of my escape. but as time goes on i grow increasingly unsure of whether his desperately hatched plan will survive to maturity. as my sadness has increased the frequency of the Dark Lord's visits has become greater, and said visits have become more painful, so that during the days it can be difficult for me to sit up from my bed or to even walk at all. His anger manifests itself in His lust, and undoubtedly, were our plans of escape to succeed, neither my brother nor i would last the day. Draco and our parents would be murdered along with my guardians, and i would be collected and kept until the arrival of the Dark Lord's immortal dark heir, at which point i would be put to an end, too. all in all, the situation both within and without of my broken body has begun to appear utterly dismal.

i've been pacing in front of my window and my unmade bed all day, when the holidays have nearly come to an end, wondering how best to explain this situation effectively to my brother, when there is a knock at the door. speak of the Devil.

'come in, Draco,' i say.

the door creaks open and he looks at me a moment through the crack before stepping inside and shutting it again after him. his face is dark but energy brews behind his eyes. his hands are restless. 'I did it, sis,' he tells me. 'Tonight. They're ready. They're waiting, this moment. Didn't you hear me? Tonight.' it seems he's exerting all his energy into keeping his voice below a shout.

the news sets me trembling further and a whimper slips from between my chapped, split lips. my hands press into my abdomen, which has been increasingly vulnerable. 'Draco, i cannot.'

he shakes his head and crosses the room in two strides, grabbing my arms and forcing me to face him. 'Yes, Persephone, you can, and you will have to. This is not something you can back out of. For your safety.'

'no, brother. i beg you.' i wrench my body from his grip and turn to the window, staring out at the darkness of the late night, my breath so hard it clouds against the glass even though i stand so far away. 'this cannot take place. you will be killed. we will all be killed. we cannot allow ourselves to indulge this naivete any further.'

he stares at me, his head motionless on his shoulders now. a great sadness pervades his eyes and slowly, as we search each other, i see the wheels turning. i know him too well, and he knows me, too. oh, no, is all i can think. oh, no.

from his back pocket he draws his wand, backing up into the door, shaking his head. 'I'm so sorry, Persephone, but you know full well that you're leaving me no choice.'

i put my hands out in front of me. i cannot allow this to be done. 'Draco, please, i beg you, for both our sakes—"

but he has made his decision. he made it long before setting foot in this room. he raises his wand as i cover my face in futility with my arms, body heaving with grief for his future, and for mine. i know what is about to be done, and shake my head behind my useless shield of bruised flesh and weak bone. his voice is brimming with grief.

'Imperio.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE**
> 
> I did want to mention that in my other current story, Our Blackened Hearts, Imperio is used in a similar setting, and for a similar purpose. The inspiration for that definitely originated with this story, in case you were confused or disappointed by the parallels, there.
> 
> I would say that my skills in writing dialogue have improved greatly since I wrote this story. In rereading these chapters I've found that the dialogue can sound a bit choppy, and almost reminiscent of the nineteenth century. Though it's not completely correct or accurate to life, it still adds to the overall mood of the story, which is why I've decided not to change it in these already-written chapters. If it's annoying you, not to worry, it will probably change when I start writing, later. If you enjoy it, message me soon so that I know to try to adhere to the same style when I do start writing.
> 
> What are your thoughts on Draco?
> 
> Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing.
> 
> All the best,
> 
> On_Errand_Bad  
> 5,074 words  
> 19 November 2020


	4. Four: Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:**
> 
> Thank you, maits18 and 1. TTP, for following and favoriting the story. Une-papillon-de-nuit, I appreciate your thoughtful reviews.
> 
> It took me a bit to post this chapter—I kept reading it over and over, thinking that something was just not quite right... but I've decided to keep it the same as it was, before. I think posting something I wrote so long ago is giving me a bit of an ego problem, so I apologize for the delay and I'll try to get over myself as I put up the next few chapters.
> 
> We're on our way to Grimmauld Place. I really love the name, which is a reference to the 19th century performing clown Grimaldi ("I'm Grim-all-day but make you laugh at night!"), who notoriously suffered from depression and some level of madness. It adds another layer to the darkness of Sirius Black's backstory.
> 
> Anyway. Onward with the chapter.

**Four: Away**   
_December 1995 - Malfoy Manor / The Forest / A Muggle Car / Number 12 Grimmauld Place_

* * *

everything is nice. Draco is particularly nice. it feels the way it did fourth year when he and i and some of our other Slytherin friends—who really weren't the nicest of people but who were easy to misbehave around—went into the room of requirement secretly one night and drank a whole lot of something that left my mind tingling and made my surroundings warm and pleasant and slightly erratic. a vague thoughtlessness.

he asks me to keep quiet, so i do, tiptoeing and not making a single sound as we travel over the floor and down the stairs, through the great room and into the foyer. i tug a coat around myself and put on boots over my bare calves to serve his wishes. he wants to keep me safe from the cold outside, and i was only in a nightdress before as it is.

the grounds outdoors are washed in fog and a light drizzling rain flicks my skin. i must look waxen and one with the moon who hovers over us like a searchlight, cutting through the weather. he takes my hand and we run in the direction of the woods, the same way i'd taken my walk with mother on my first day of freedom. my ankles ache already but he urges me onward and it helps to have somebody to hold onto as we struggle over the damp terrain, lit only by the tip of his wand. the canopy keeps us out of the growing rain, but by the time we reach the river it has escalated to a downpour, and even the tree branches cannot shield against the cold barrage of droplets. we cross over the river, our feet slipping on the stones, but some force keeps us out of the current. for minutes it is only our racing breath and a force urging us onward, and my mind struggling to return to my body, but unfailingly remaining absent, away from the troubled lines of my brother's face. a distorted peace blankets my body and yet tears stream down my face and freeze over my cheeks from the cold, and i know not why. i cannot stop running

the edge of the forest arrives unexpectedly, and our pace slows as lights begin twinkling through the trimmed evergreen trees ahead. lamplight flickers through the dark and i watch my breath clouding in front of my face, slipping between struggling to re-occupy my body and allowing my awareness to float up and away into the dark firmament. Draco's strength is waning, flowing off of him with the rain. lightning cracks across the sky and thunder rolls over our small curve of the earth. the gods are at war this night. is it our doing?

the supple dirt beneath our boots thins and turns to gravel and then to an old cobblestone road, slick and dark with the rain, scintillating under the light coming from the post at the end of the deserted residential street. above the road, in a tudor-style house overlooking a humble garden, there is a single casement window, and beyond it, a Muggle woman, combing her hair and looking out at the night. her eyes narrow as Draco and i stumble out of the woods and across the short street in the direction of a vintage black Muggle car, light shattering off its metal. three vague faces peer through the foggy windows, only two of them recognizable. spotting us, sopping wet, Draco dragging me along by the elbow, his wand hidden away, now.

Professor Lupin opens the back door of the car and steps out, arms outstretched. with the absence of my brother's magic, the effects of the Imperius curse begin to wear off, and very slowly, i return to my threadbare body, the panic gradually taking over until i can do nothing but stiffen.

'Persephone,' pleads Draco, trying to clasp my wrists together, but i cannot allow him to succeed, and begin to writhe, my instincts taking over.

'no!' i protest, incapable of shouting, but fighting with all my strength against Professor Lupin's arms. but i am too weak. 'you cannot do this,' i tell Draco. 'you don't understand the gravity of what is bound to happen to you. think of mother and father, for once, if you refuse to think of yourself!'

'Miss Malfoy, there are Muggles sleeping on this street,' hisses Professor Lupin. 'Please cooperate with us.'

'i cannot—' i break out, but then his hand claps over my mouth and i can only whimper, my screams snagged ineffectively in my throat. they are all going to die at my own hands. the rain is too sharp to allow me the hope that this is merely a nightmare. Draco's eyes are trained up toward the Muggle woman's window behind us, his face pallid, and i know we have been spotted.

'You must be quiet' says Professor Lupin into my ear, an edge of mourning in the sound of his voice, and my body begins to drain of its strength. 'Draco, we will take it from here. Go and hide yourself, now.'

my brother looks sadly at me, and my eyes widen, tears streaming over my skin and over my captor's hand; though they don't do much damage; the rain is master of us all. 'Just take care of her,' chokes my brother, and he can't bear to look at me again before casting a final glance toward the window above, and turning toward the woods, disappearing among the tree trunks.

i try to scream and kick, but i am simply too small, and without a fair battle, i am forced into the backseat of the muggle car—it smells coldly of real leather, old cigarette ashes and dampness—by Professor Lupin, who shuts the door firmly and keeps hold of my wrists, restraining them as i writhe and scream; for what, i don't know.

from the front seat stare two faces, one, that of Professor Moody, in the passenger's seat, looking uncharacteristically overwrought, and a second, behind the steering wheel, that of a woman with red hair and sharp features and a freckled face, who i do not recognize. i refuse to acknowledge that my tears and screams are ineffective, so the ex-professor beside me is forced again to cover my mouth, holding my body tight against his shoulder while i hyperventilate. the woman behind the wheel forces herself to look forward and tears away from the curb while Professor Moody looks back toward the house from which the Muggle woman had been watching.

'He put her under the Imperius curse,' says Professor Lupin in explanation to the others. 'Poor, poor boy.'

'Remus,' barks Mad-eye, but he is ignored.

'In her own house, Remus,' whispers the woman, shuddering as she exhales, taking a hand from the wheel to rub her eyes, looking at me in the rear-view mirror in a way i cannot stand. i want to dissolve. i cannot scream loud enough; they only speak over me. perhaps i am imagining things, and i am not screaming at all. my throat will not hold much longer.

'I know,' says Professor Lupin, his arms straining through his tweed jacket, his voice low.

'Get a hold of yourselves,' growls Professor Moody. 'Faster, Nymphadora. That Muggle woman is bound to report an abduction to the authorities.'

'Molly is still waiting with the second car in Newbury, Mad-eye,' responds the woman, voice more level than either of the men's. 'Everything is going to be alright.' but i can hear in her voice that she's struggling to believe herself.

'Newbury!' bellows Professor Moody. 'Newbury isn't near close enough! Damned—'

'Alastor,' warns Professor Lupin, and Moody's rage is put to an abrupt stop. he grumbles something to himself and crosses his arms, looking out his window, his breath fogging at short intervals against the glass as his crazy eye rolls. i watch it turn to pure white in his reflection, and can sense him, keeping watch on me through the back of his head.

i can hardly breathe now, my weak body cramping from my fruitless efforts to escape, but still i summon the remaining droplets from the reserves of my strength and scream unintelligibly against Professor Lupin's hand. we are on a faster road now; i can feel the tires turning beneath me and the speed is dizzying. he looks down at me, the deepest pity in his eyes, and i squirm against his arm.

'I am going to give you an ultimatum, Miss Malfoy.' my hands tug at his wrist but to no avail. 'Stop moving a minute and be quiet, could you, please? It seems that you have something you'd like to say, so I'll agree to let you go if you'll only stop screaming, yes? Does that sound fair enough?'

i gulp, blinking away my tears and trying to keep my pulse down, nodding against his hand and swallowing until my heart is less swollen and back to its designated spot in my chest.

he watches me closely until my breathing slows and i apparently appear to have myself under control, though i doubt that i ever have or will.

the car skids over a rough patch of road, sending up a wave of water that spits against the window beside me. from somewhere comes a long blaring horn and the woman in the driver's seat cringes.

Professor Lupin nods his head and slowly removes pressure from my mouth, letting me go.

i swallow and cough and rub the tears from my face, trying to breathe, trying to appear rational. i must reason with them all, even though my last chance may already have passed. i imagine the Dark Lord and my parents themselves searching rampant through the forest. i imagine Draco, writhing on the ground under His Cruciatus curse, almost feeling the pain, myself. my breath threatens to hitch but i hold it until i have brought myself back into my body, back to the darkness of the car, back to the task at hand.

'professor,' i croak, and clear my throat. 'please. you don't understand what you're doing.' he raises an eyebrow slightly and i shake my head. 'this is going to get all of you killed. you cannot possibly sacrifice your lives for this. you won't be able to do anything about my... my condition. it is permanent, and nothing you do will reverse it. it would be better for all of you to take me directly back there, now, and go about your own separate business. i can withstand it. i can.'

the woman in the front seat's hair changes from red to a deep sincere blue, and by way of the rear-view mirror she and Professor Lupin share a meaningful look.

'You're out of your mind, Malfoy,' growls Mad-eye from the passenger's seat.

'no more than you lot are out of yours.'

i cannot help it; my breathing ramps up again and i cover my face with my hands. Professor Lupin touches my shoulder cautiously and looks into my eyes, trying to be stern, but i honestly just want to laugh hysterically at him, at everyone in the car, at the entire situation and fate itself.

this is all so bizarre. what's been done to my body surely has made me downright repulsive; never would i have expected people like them to offer their help in the first place. surreal. i should be back in the manor, in my room, sad and lost and aching, but at least safe. at least with a chance of life beyond the birth of the creature inside me. now the people i love may not last the day, the other occupants of this car included.

'Miss Malfoy,' says Professor Lupin consolingly, but still i cannot breathe. his hand clamps down over my shoulder, and he looks at me more gently. 'Persephone,' he says, his voice under a whisper. i look at him with stinging, accusing eyes. 'We all want you to understand.' Professor Moody huffs, but the woman next to him shoots him a silencing look. 'If there were no risk to you, then we would, of course, return you to your home at once. But as things stand, we are under a moral obligation to help you out of this danger.'

Professor Moody still doesn't turn around to look at me, but i know his eye is watching. his throat clears. 'It's not all about you, either, Malfoy,' he adds with his gravely voice. 'Of course you wouldn't consider that, being from such an incorrigibly selfish bloodline as you are, but it is our lives at stake, as well. That thing the Dark Lord put inside you, whatever it turns out to be, would have the entirety of the human race at his mercy, were it left in his hands. We're taking you out of his clutches for more than your own sake. For the sake of us all.'

my head shakes, body trembling from the inside, my throat closing around itself like a vacuum, knowing they are right. i am wracked with sobs. 'but he'll have you killed,' i stutter. 'he'll have my brother t-tortured—'

'Persephone,' warns Lupin, 'breathe and try not to panic, or I'll have to put you to sleep—'

'i'm not panicking,' i whimper, wishing i could shout, to make them understand.

but before i can try to control myself again or Professor Lupin can do anything in my defense, Professor Moody turns around in his seat and flicks his wand over my head in his impatience.

instantly, fog clouds my senses, slowly closing over me, encasing me in a sweet oblivious darkness. i hear him muttering something under his breath and Professor Lupin catches me against his tweed jacket as i fall, steadying my head on his chest.

'It'll be alright,' i hear him say, the sound faded, as though it comes from down a long tunnel. 'Just close your eyes. We're going to keep you taken care of...'

then, everything fades away and i cannot resist sleep as it casts its weighted veil over me once more.

* * *

'Sirius, there's no cause to boast; we all know you're the most level-headed of the lot of us when it comes to these matters,' snarls Moody, close to my ear, causing my consciousness to stir. aching springs out all across my body and i'm certain there must've been a car collision during the course of my magic-induced rest.

'Hush, Alastor. The girl,' hisses another voice, the voice of Molly Weasley, but her words are useless. my eyes are already fluttering open, blinking back the hot firelight casting itself eerily across the papered walls of this unfamiliar room.

a small gasp comes from someone close beside me, and i barely need to turn my head to tell that it is Ginny, my constant friend since the first night of the Sorting at Hogwarts, one hand holding my limp one, the other dabbing a cool cloth against my forehead. 'She's awake,' she says softly to the room, and any hint of further conversation ceases.

my vision fluctuates, then refocuses, and i look around at the people gathered in the room. Ginny is at her knees beside me, looking with that fierce intensity of hers into my eyes. Behind her on the love seat sit Harry and Hermione, Ron situated between them, and Fred and George, leaning against the tattered upholstery of the arms. Mrs. Weasley stands in the center of the room with her hands on her hips and her husband, Mr. Weasley, sits with a bandaged head in a rocking chair by the fireplace. The woman from the car earlier, her hair pitch black now, stands beside Professor Lupin against the far wall. Professor Moody stands at the foot of the couch on which i lay, his crazy eye unnervingly still, and Sirius Black broods in a pinstriped Victorian tailcoat, a steadying hand gripping the mantle over the hissing fireplace. all of them stare at me, blinking, blank, and it becomes unquestionably clear that i must be the one to break this silence. i look around at them in hopes of finding traction in somebody's face, but nothing is steady. even the flickering of the flames across the old wallpaper makes my stomach turn.

it is Ron, shoulders hunched in a miserable-looking vest with fur lining (probably the latest gift from his mother), who i select, at length, as my prey. 'looking dapper, Ronald,' i tease. he smiles with difficulty.

the entirety of the assembled group seems to let out a collective exhale.

Mrs. Weasley shakes her head a moment, looking at me as though i am a newborn and have just spoken my first words. Fred and George chuckle lightly and i see the corner of Hermione's mouth twitch upward, but promptly the discomfort takes over again, and i feel my heart quaver at the utter hopelessness of the situation. what am i to say to them to make them believe i have not been left ruined since they last encountered me? is there anything i can say? would it be a lie? how different have i become, really? is it possible that i really am changed, that the differences are only lost on me because of my own ignorance? the thought sends a chill down my spine.

'Sorry,' says Ginny, removing the cold cloth and pulling a blanket over my body. instantly i feel sweltering, but i don't say anything, i only smile at her, and put friendly consolatory pressure on her hand. just enough to make her smile, though i can see it is difficult.

Mrs. Weasley exhales and rubs her hands against her dress. 'Something to eat, then, dear?' she asks the air, and doesn't wait for my response before hurrying out of the room, apparently in the direction of the kitchen. i cannot imagine eating anything in my current state, but i hope that busying herself in the kitchen will at least help her to cope with the situation. i cannot help but close my eyes and swallow hard in guilt.

it is me. i am the situation.

all of us stare at one another, except for Sirius, who stares into the flames. at length, Harry clears his throat, shuffling his feet. 'So, then. How are you feeling, Seph?'

'Shut up, Harry,' whispers Hermione. 'Of course she's feeling downright horrid in every way imaginable.'

a weak chuckle makes its way in pieces from my chapped lips. 'it's okay, 'Mione. i'll be alright, Harry. how are you?'

'I'm—' he starts, but Mad-eye cuts him off with a grunt before he can continue.

'Now's no time for small talk,' says the interrupter darkly, his voice like gravel. 'We all have questions for each other, which can be asked and answered later. But there are some which must take priority. I'm sure you understand, Malfoy.'

i nod the affirmative, skin rubbing against the pillow beneath my head, sweat beading across my temple. Ginny nervously pulls the blanket off of me again and dabs my cheeks with the cloth. i manage to smile at her, though i'm sure nothing good will come from all these dramatic changes in temperature. i cannot wait until we are alone in a place where we can talk and be the way we were before, away from all of this. 'of course, Professor,' i say, and cough quietly into my shoulder, my skin cold and hot and everywhere between. 'but... where exactly are we?'

'We are at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. This is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, offered up to the cause by Sirius.' the mentioned continues to look unwaveringly into the fire. 'It is where you will be hiding until we can find a more secure place to transport you. But none of that is pressing at the present moment.' he looks down at me and the room seems to perceptibly grow colder. the flames shudder in the fireplace. 'It is our belief—'

'Your belief, Alastor,' interrupts Mr. Weasley, his mouth set in a hard line. i shift my gaze toward him and he nods in my direction, a reserved, tight look in his eyes.

'Very well. It is the belief of Sirius and myself, that the agent inside of you might cause You-Know-Who to be able to spy on the lot of us through your presence here. We've been looking—'

Hermione pipes up at this, cutting the Professor off, but he doesn't seem to mind, as uncomfortable and stuffy as he looks standing here. '...Looking through some of the Black's old spellbooks and there are some in here'—(she holds up a heavy volume which i only now notice has been balancing on her lap this whole time)—'that might help us to... to drive out the immortality. Reverse the process.' at this, she looks around in search of support, but finds none. even the eyes of Fred and George have darkened. 'And, well, to... to put the... the agent' —(i can hardly blame her for using Moody's more dispassionate terminology)—'well... to death.'

i have to think over what's just been said to ensure my ears haven't played tricks.

'but how could it posses such ability?' i manage at length, knowing even as the words leave my mouth that i'm in denial. 'it's just a baby.' Moody flinches at the word. somehow, this hatred, this weakness, albeit caused by all our discomfort, has given me strength to defy them all. i feel an upward surge of confidence in my argument.

but at the very moment when i feel the potential to gain an upper hand, Mrs. Weasley shuffles through the doorway, carrying a tray crammed with tea and various biscuits and sweets; more than i could possibly imagine eating, even in my regular condition. she sets the tray down on an end table. 'Ginny,' she says, and the two of them cooperate to help prop me up with pillows. 'Take a drink if you can, dear,' she says to me, the motherly manner in her hands as she helps me raise the flower-printed teacup to my lips making it impossible to refuse. she smiles after i take a sip or two, but i can tell from a place deep behind her eyes - a place i know she's trying hard to conceal - that she's utterly distraught over my predicament. and, of course, my presence only re-fires that distress.

i feel i've intruded. it's their holiday, after all. Ginny, seeming to read my mind, tightens her hand around mine.

Professor Lupin steps forward into the firelight, the woman from the car following him with her hands in the pockets of her jacket. she looks exhausted, probably from driving such a distance. his face is heavily burdened, the strain in his eyes accentuated by the way the light casts itself across his scarred cheekbones. 'Miss Malfoy, I understand your hesitance. But there are lives at stake, yours included... Speaking for myself, it would be good of you to give Alastor and Sirius a chance.'

i shake my head. 'it won't work,' i say. 'He already tried. to make sure it was really the way He needed it, to make sure it wasn't normal. mortal.'

the night is burned behind my eyelids, burned across my skin, an invisible scar, but very much present. when He had arrived and cast every possible curse in attempt to remove his heir from me, to kill it, relentless, not stopping for hours, ensuring that it was impossible for his plot to be countered.

'Oh, gods,' chokes Mrs. Weasley with a sob at my words, hand over her heart as though this will keep it from rupturing. 'You poor, poor girl. That monster... I cannot bring myself to imagine him touching you...' here she can bear it no longer. it's strange, looking at her, seeing how what happened to me can reduce all of them to scared shells of themselves, when it seems like nothing in my own mind. of course, there were difficult times, and there will be more difficult times ahead, but i made it through relatively unscathed.

but then i understand, when i look into her eyes. they think me insane. for being willing to return to Him, to subject myself to more pain, to more torture. they must see through me, to that part of myself, in hiding now but quick to spring out once more at His presence. that part that worships Him, that takes refuge in His darkness, His cruelty, His hatred. of course they can see it. and they fear me, as they should. yet i cannot change. i cannot fear Him. i cannot keep that hidden self inside me from wanting Him.

'Molly,' reasons Mr. Weasley from across the room, severing my train of thought. 'It's You-Know-Who's child—'

'Yes, Arthur, I know, I am not an imbecile!' she shouts, louder than i've ever heard her, the anger welling up in her chest. i know that feeling, below the ribcage, when you cannot breathe. her eyes strain toward mine, body wracked by sobs, searching for someone who is no longer here.

'Arthur,' says Professor Lupin, and the called upon eases himself from his seat, venturing over to Mrs. Weasley and placing his hands on her shoulders.

'Let's go somewhere else, darling,' he says to her, but she shrugs him away with the trembling strength of a mother.

'Molly,' barks Mad-eye, but she steels herself against the opposition and holds her crying back.

Sirius, at great length, turns from the fire, his eyes struggle to retain their usual twinkle, his hands in loose fists at his sides. 'Well,' he says, calling all the attention in the room to him, looking around at us all unashamedly in his admirable way, 'he might have tried, through his own methods. But now we're going to try, through ours.' his eyes focus on mine, all the kindness in the world summoned up in his gaze and projected toward me. there is no pity there, nor fear, which i appreciate endlessly. 'Please give us that chance. Give it to yourself.'

'Merlin, at least let her eat before, Sirius,' breaks out Mrs. Weasley, unable to control herself. 'She won't endure a second, all skin and bones as she is.'

Professor Moody shifts his weight and walks around the arm of the couch to stand over her. 'There is no time, Molly,' he growls, and makes a meaningful motion with his head to Mr. Weasley, who slowly hauls up his sobbing wife, escorting her out of the room into the kitchen once more. Alastor's crazy eye rolls and he looks around harshly at everyone in the room. 'Tonks,' he says to the woman who'd driven the car earlier, 'you will stay. But the rest of you. This will not be for the faint of will. If you do not wish to stay, do us all the service of removing yourself from the room.'

a moment passes. in the end, Fred is the first to stand. 'Dreadful sorry, Seph,' he says.

'it's perfectly alright,' i manage back, and he gives me a small smile before leaving the room. George follows soon after, along with Hermione, Ron and Harry, all of them looking at me apologetically, but really, i will be grateful for five fewer pairs of eyes on me, through whatever is about to take place. they tromp up a whining staircase somewhere out of my eyesight, not saying a word. Ginny, however, remains.

'Weasley,' says Mad-eye, but her hand only tightens around mine.

'I'm staying,' she says, and the weight behind her words doesn't allow him to resist.

'Very well,' he says. 'Sirius.'

'Wait,' interjects Professor Lupin, and the woman called Tonks, her hair a fiery red now, looks up at him. 'You ought to practice the spells before trying to actually carry this out. The possible damage would be irreversible.'

'You know as well as any, Remus,' says Professor Moody condescendingly, 'that You-Know-Who's strength grows by the minute. It's by sheer luck we haven't all been reduced to smithereens by this hour. We have no time for preparation. What passes will pass.'

Ginny looks around at the four adults in the room in distress. 'But, are you saying she could.. she could be killed?' the panic in her voice sends my sorrow over the edge. were i to be killed, i cannot say i would mind terribly. there would be one less person putting all of them at risk in this darkening world. but the pain and fear clutching her heart is also a firm vise over mine, if only for her sake.

'Ginny,' i say, and she turns to me as though i've already died, as though i'm on my deathbed. i very well may be. 'it will all be alright, Gin. i'm strong. i will make it through this.'

Sirius places a hand on her shoulder. 'Ginny, if there is a danger to your friend's life, we will put an end to its power. I promise you.'

Moody grunts at this, but Sirius throws him a dark look which he does not challenge. i know that, if worst comes to worst, Mad-eye would willingly sacrifice my life to abolish the potentially deathly dark forces inside of me. but all i can do for the moment is hope that Ginny is fooled by Sirius's consoling words.

really, though, i do hope i don't die here, with my best friend watching helplessly.

the three men draw their wands and triangulate around me, Tonks standing by with her own wand drawn at her side, waiting to interfere if necessary. 'Miss Weasley,' says Professor Lupin, 'if you would kindly back away from the crossfire.' i nod at her with encouragement and let her hand go, clasping my fingers together over my chest in the absence of her comfort.

'Ready?' says Mad-eye. 'You remember the wand-work... Three.'

Tonks fidgets and puts her hand in Ginny's.

'Two.'

Sirius's mouth twitches, and Professor Lupin's throat clears.

'One.'

each of them casts spells i don't recognize, all of them sounding light and ancient to my ears. at first i feel nothing, barely a tingle in my center. but then, slowly, as their voices grow in depth and intensity, chanting on, their words weaving an almost ritual tapestry, my vision begins to cloud and splinter around the edges, and the slight feeling of my body yields to one of being slowly bent, rending in two.

'Carefully,' warns Sirius to Mad-eye, who is looking more crazed than usual. 'Not too quickly.' but his words have little effect.

the pain catches in my throat but then promptly, before i can think of how to control myself, i am screaming, straining to be separate from it all, but inextricably tied to my body, unable to dislodge my consciousness from this pain, a gargantuan darkness taking over me, the light parts giving out with barely any fight, all the previous feverish heat vanishing and giving way, dissolving in the wake of the new, numbing cold, like pitchforks penetrating all over my body, slowly infusing hopeless night directly into my bloodstream. my heart slowing, speeding, slowing, slowing. black spots fill my vision, my eyes glued open, my breath fading in and out, my jaw unhinged in unimaginable pain, tears lodged in my eyes as i go deaf from the volume of the sound torn repeatedly from my chest.

the darkness is taking me under just when i hear something shatter close-by, and then Mrs. Weasley has burst through the kitchen door, screaming and clutching her arms around Mad-eye's neck.

'Enough!' she insists, her voice piercing through the oblivion surrounding me. 'Enough, the lot of you, stop this madness now! She's just a girl!' the harshness of her reprimand makes Mad-eye put an end to his constant stream of spells, and both Professor Lupin and Sirius promptly lower their wands. on the verge of unconsciousness, my eyes roll around the room and i attempt to focus on a particular spot on the ceiling above me but it is all the same and there is nothing to stabilize myself with and i am slipping...

'Quick,' says Professor Lupin, kneeling down next to me, drawing a bar of his infamous dark chocolate from the pocket of his tweed jacket. 'It'll stop you fainting.' when i bite into it, i feel a tingling warmth return to the far reaches of my body, and it helps my vision to become steady, though the ache in my limbs and the sharpness of my very blood takes much longer to wear away.

'Nothing?' says Mr. Weasley at length, a hand tugging at his hair, as though he'd like to tear it out. wouldn't we all.

'Nothing,' answers Mad-eye, heaving an exhale.

before ten minutes are out, he is gone from the house.

'It's not your fault,' consoles Sirius, who stays in the room with me, staring without end at the fire, while I lay weakly on my side, struggling to breathe steadily, my face heated by the flames. 'He's been in a foul temper as of late.' i smile over at him wearily, but nothing can serve as a balm for my terrorized nerve endings.

on and on for hours, even into morning and through breakfast, which i can barely pluck at, i can hardly force my legs to stand. through the rest of the day, i will myself to sleep, but none will come. i can only shiver and remember the darkness, feel it where it still pools in my center, within me, feeding off of me. i wish i would starve already.

* * *

the next evening, we all go to sleep early. in the room that Ginny, Hermione and i share, i strain my hearing through the walls, hoping to catch some whisper of hushed conversation from another room, but everyone keeps themselves eerily silent.

Ginny is putting on an extra pair of socks over her regular ones, as the night is cold and the fireplace downstairs, though magical, can only reach so many corners of the house untended. Hermione lays in bed on her stomach, twirling her hair with one finger and preparing to turn the page of a textbook laying open on her pillow. she's been steadily ignoring me all evening, but not coldly; i know that she's embarrassed after how lightly she treated my predicament with the spellbook and all when i'd first woken yesterday, and i harbor no anger toward her. 'Mione is the type you have to allow to come to you when she's ready, so i don't try to force anything.

Ginny hops around a bit at a loss for balance, and leans against her dresser until she gets both socks pulled up over her shins. i giggle slightly at her; my outward emotions have lightened up over the past hours, even if my heart hasn't. she smiles, shuts the drawers of the dresser without making much noise, and then sits down on her cot across the room from my own. i've been sitting against the wall, unable to lie down for the lingering discomfort in my body from the terror on the couch last night. her eyes narrow slightly, as they do whenever she's thinking hard, looking at me inquisitively.

'you don't have to pretend,' i chuckle at length, looking down at my bitten fingernails in my lap. 'i know i must seem repulsive now.'

Ginny's lips part to object but it is Hermione who speaks from the corner. 'Nonsense,' she mutters, without looking up from her book, and for a moment, both Ginny and i seem to be wondering whether she's spoken in response to my words or to her own complex train of thought. but then she turns her face from the book, proving the former possibility to be the case. 'You are nothing of the sort,' she declares. 'What happened to you was not caused by you, but by You-Know-Who. You were subject to his soullessness and that was not your fault, and it doesn't make you any less of a good person than you were before. Alright?'

'thank you for your consolations,' i say genuinely, but her words cannot keep me from feeling dark.

'We both love you, Seph,' says Ginny. 'And nothing that happens is going to change that reality.'

we all look at each other as it begins to feel physically warmer. i rub my hands against the silk nightgown lent to me by Ginny, and Hermione furrows her eyebrows in figuring. 'Must be Sirius,' she concludes at length. 'He's probably downstairs keeping the fireplace alive. It's an old sort of magic; no-one uses it anymore. They cool down unless someone stays up in the same room. He'll probably be awake all night.'

the mention of Sirius sends my mind down a different route. i wonder what the coming months will be like, trapped in here with only him for company. only once have i really met him, and he seemed alright enough, but still it worries me, the idea of being alone, and having the pressure of keeping up a civil relationship with a near-stranger. if we can't end up getting along—which i believe would be justified given our opposing pasts and my current condition, especially since it's at the hands of his enemy—then all hope of retaining my sanity until Draco comes to claim me will be lost.

but the words and presence of my friends are too warm to allow me to linger on those worries for long. Ginny looks at me with the greatest friendship imaginable in her eyes, and i know everything will turn out in our favor, no matter how long that takes. 'Catch some peace while you still can,' she advises, extinguishing the lamp magically and pulling her covers up to her chin. 'Mum let you off the hook today, but she'll be bent on stuffing you up tomorrow.'

in the darkness a smile climbs up onto my lips and perches there. i lay on my side facing the wall, smelling the coldness, the musty but comforting odor of the carpet and the wallpaper, hearing Ron's light snores on the other side of the wall.

something strange and once-lost stirs inside my belly, a warmth and brightness which hasn't been there in a long, long time-or perhaps has never been there, at all. slowly, as i stare into the darkness, it seeps out through my limbs like honey, healing my brokenness, restoring life back to my organs and my mind, like a cooling balm, like an autumn breeze through yellow trees. i fall asleep, surrounded by my friends, the heat from the fire below us warming me through and through, in blossoming faith that a thing called hope may exist within my reach, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE**
> 
> Hello, all!
> 
> I really enjoyed rereading this chapter, since I'm currently working on a Remus story (Our Blackened Hearts), and it was interesting to see an earlier perspective on his character. So, what do you think? Will the love surrounding this dark unborn child change its fate and that of Persephone, as well?
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear from you.
> 
> Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing!
> 
> 'Till next time,
> 
> On_Errand_Bad  
> 6,805 words  
> 19 November 2020


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